The First Kiss
by KaiserKou
Summary: Miranda can feel herself falling for Shepard, and she hates it. So she looks into his past and tries to find some faults with him to turn her off. Needless to say, this backfires...
1. The First Kiss

Well, I replayed Mass Effect 2 during my summer holiday, and I had the urge to novelise my favourite part of the romance between M!Shep and Miranda Lawson: the first kiss. But I also wondered what would happen if Miranda inquired about M!Shep's past, and maybe explore his character a little. Let's just say that the moment sort of got away from me.

* * *

Miranda didn't know what to do.

Always she had been in control – if not in an immediate capacity, as director of projects always only responsible to no one but the Illusive Man himself, then as a first advisor, a vizier, someone to influence and guide things from the shadows with the precise application of either information or force.

Biotic, technical, martial, scientific – there was no discipline she could not suffer not to master, and with a keen mind honed to a razor's edge by years of study she resolved to become the best at everything. Well, better than she already was. She was as close to perfect as it was humanly possible to be, genetically speaking, but the closer one got to perfection the more one's flaws and faults and failings stood out. Doubt was something she had little time for, though: it was nothing but a distraction for sophists and the apathic. She would not, could not, question herself, for in the end she was the only one she could trust. Ever since she had escaped from her father's megalomaniacal clutches she had always been in absolute control of herself. But after Niket's betrayal not days earlier –

And therein lay the problem, didn't it? She had lost the only one from that life she had trusted, the only person in the whole world she trusted implicitly without reservations… and in the process her eyes had been opened to another. Now, in the wake of what had happened, after seeing her little sister again and talking to her for the first time in what felt like forever, after being betrayed by the only one she had ever fully trusted, she had spoken to the man that had allowed her to get her justice – and he had asked for nothing. Nothing in return except for her continued service, something she had determined to provide anyway, was under orders to provide anyway. Why had he been so kind to her?

 _"My sister is safe again, thanks in large part to you. I won't forget that" she told him after having spoken about her talk with her sister, to which he shrugged after she turned away and headed for the door to her cabin/office, but as she sat back down behind her desk she spoke up and kept him from leaving. "Commander, why did you help me like this?"_

 _Everyone wanted something. Did he seek some favour in return, maybe want to turn her against her superiors in Cerberus, maybe even some sort of physical intimacy? She hated being in debt to anyone, and least of all-_

 _"I care about you, Miranda, and your sister needed help" was all the answer he provided before he walked out the door._

And after obsessing over his words for the last four days since their conversation while they were sent onto another mission to recruit another member for their little suicide squad – one the dossier called 'the Assassin', Thane Krios, a specialist of the highest order – she had come to the conclusion that she was slipping, losing control over her emotions. Either that, or she was falling in love.

She had no idea of what to do about that. What the hell was she to do? It was like she was standing on the edge of a cliff, tethering on the brink of adoration, and if she allowed herself to fall for him –

It was logical. He was strong, charismatic, selfless and kind, but first and foremost brave. He strove to do what was right, no matter the cost to himself, to do right by his crew and his people and even the Council that hadn't given him as much as the time of day. And he was handsome, she had to admit that, in a sort of rugged, military, Band-of-Brothers sort of way. Like some Turian military drama protagonist had changed species to become human. Physically fit, mentally sound, successful in his chosen field: purely out of an objective standpoint he was everything someone would look for in a partner, female or male or otherwise. And the attraction seemed to go both ways.

She wasn't dumb. In fact, she was very observant. One didn't survive as long or reach as ascendants heights of authority within an organisation like Cerberus as she had without having proverbial eyes on the back of one's neck. She could tell that his gaze lingered on her when she moved, a dilation in his pupils whenever he spoke to her from a close distance, how he often paid close attention to _certain_ parts of her anatomy when he thought she didn't notice. She did prefer a catsuit-type of uniform and work-wear as it gave her yet another edge in her profession: if someone was busy checking out your rack or your posterior you could swipe their keycard, download the collected files on their Omni-tool or train a bullet on their eye much easier. Distraction and deception were the tools of her trade, after all. But she couldn't help but wonder why she still dressed like that around the ship when he, whom she had actually come to trust, came around to talk. Did she want him to look?

Absurd.

Yet…

Physical attraction was one thing, but what seemed to be going on just now seemed to be another thing entirely. The other day she had been thinking about their next mission and if they could possibly get some shore-leave on some civilised world like Ilium or the Citadel and found herself smiling at the thought of spending time with him in a less than professional setting. She, smiling like some wistful, love-struck schoolgirl? It was vexing to say the very least. Galling to say more. Maybe if it had been one sided she could have pushed it to the back of her mind and focused on her job, but –

 _I care about you, Miranda_.

In an uncharacteristic display of frustration she growled at herself and let her forehead sink down to hit the surface of her desk with a thud, barely missing the keyboard of her computer terminal. _Keep it together, Lawson_ , she warned herself and wished she had some insecticide for the butterflies in her stomach. She was there to observe him and moderate him, making sure that he would stay on point and focused on the mission. Feeling what she felt now… it was tantamount to Stockholm syndrome. No, perhaps closer to Nightingale syndrome – a person of a medical persuasion falling in love with their patient. She had quite literally brought him back to life, after all. It was just an emotional reflex, a reaction to social stimuli to which she was likely more subject due to mild reactive attachment disorder as a result of her unique upbringing. Surely there was nothing wrong with –

She growled again at herself and head-desked once more. She could try to justify it as much as she wanted; she still didn't know what to do. Well, she considered as she sat up straight in her chair, maybe it was time to look at it all for what it was: a problem. She was good at solving problems.

Problem: she was developing an inappropriate emotional attachment to the subject of Project Lazarus, Commander Shepard. This would compromise her affectivity in her set mission – check his behaviour – and thus compromise his mission: stop the Collectors.

Solution… Maybe it was time to work from the ground and make one's way upwards? Start in the beginning.

Step one: Determine why she was so _invested_ in this man.

Step two: Address the root of that emotional attachment.

Step three: …? That could wait.

Step Four: Profit, in that she would be more focused on the mission and less likely to get killed once the Suicide part of the mission statement actually became applicable.

And how did she determine the cause of her attraction? Information, that was how. Taking a step back and examining this, all of it, from an objective standpoint. "EDI" she spoke to the seemingly empty air of her office, causing a blue holographic and slightly transparent chess piece, the representation of the Normandy's resident AI, to pop out of its panel in the far end of the room. "Engage privacy mode and lock the doors. Bring up my dossier on Commander Shepard".

"Certainly, operative Lawson" the machine replied, programmed to follow her every order and to not save any documentation of the doings of the XO Lawson once privacy mode was engaged by her. No one else on the ship had any such luxury. Dutifully the terminal before her on the desk flickered to life and brought up the documents she had started to compile years ago, files she knew almost by heart after so much time spent reading them. And so she set about reading what they had on Commander Shepard.

 _Name: John Shepard (no middle name known)._

 _Birthplace: Chicago, Earth (no records of birth exist)._

 _Date of birth: April 11, 2154 (no records of birth exist)._

 _Primary skillset: Leadership and Tactics expertise (a seemingly natural ability demonstrated on numerous occasions, see service history below)._

 _Secondary skillset: Biotic and combat expertise (trained as 'Vanguard' shock trooper at the Jupiter Orbital Military Academy), Medical and Interplanetary combative proficiency (trained at the ICT academy in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil)._

 _Additional skills: Base-level interstellar piloting (Alliance Navy standard training), knowledge of Geth military doctrine (from great experience in fighting said synthetics), knowledge of Prothean and Reaper esoterica (due to possession of a Prothean cipher), fluency in English and French, knowledge of Krogan customs (demonstrated in interactions with Battlemaster Urdnot Wrex and the asset referred to as 'Grunt') High tolerance for alcohol for a human (demonstrated in Omega's Afterlife night club)._

 _Weaknesses: Cannot dance._

That last part she had written in a fit of amused frustration after having come with that man, alongside Garrus Vakarian, Jacob and Dr. Mordin Solus, to Afterlife to treat some ways further with Aria, the ruler of the station. She had seen him as he moved on the edge of the dance floor alongside his old friend Garrus, trying to act inconspicuous despite wearing full N7 armour and heavy weaponry. He had looked very enthusiastic as he did some sort of shuffling motion forth and back that could, in some hypothetical universe populated exclusively by blind one-legged hippos, be described as dancing. It was… humanising. Somehow she found his clumsiness adorable instead of laughable. Damn it. She read on.

 _Biases and prohibitions: Has hard time trusting synthetic life forms due to experience fighting Geth. Deeply devoted to the safety of the soldiers under his command. Given to emotional investment. Distrusts Cerberus. Possibly harbours racist opinions about Hanar._

Again, that last part had been a recent addition based on pure speculation on her part. She had heard him curse over "Big stupid jellyfishes" enough time to see a slightly distressing pattern emerging. But it didn't seem mean-spirited or aggressive and was rather more just a quirk of personality. Damn, the man could even joke as he did in the face of certain death and destruction. Well, little answer so far. She just had to read on.

 _Height: 188 centimetres (Six feet two inches)._

 _Weight: 97.3 kilograms (215 pounds)._

 _Service record: Enlisted in Alliance Military at the age of eighteen (date: April 11, 2172) as part of the LIRA-initiative out of the Chicago Draft Centre. Tested for biotic potential and subsequently went through amp-integration and modification alongside the standard gene-treatments. Trained at the Jupiter Orbital Military Academy in orbit around Titan, finished training with stellar commendations at January 1, 2173. Attached to Hammer Squad, 11_ _th_ _frontier division out of Elysium, under the command of one Major Gunnarsen, as Serviceman, Second rank. Patrolled the Skyllian Verge as a marine attached to the SSV London, protecting the colonies in the Skyllian Verge from pirates and raiders out of Batarian space. Earned promotion to the rank of Corporal by June 5, 2174. Transferred to the SSV Idaho in 2175 until sustained injury in combat during a rescue operation in early 2176, was given sick leave for four months with pay and sent to recuperate on Elysium._

 _Was generally considered the close quarters combat expert by his commanding officers, noted for his aggressive personal combat doctrine and great physical and biotic prowess. His leadership skills were noted on several occasions in the service reports of his COs. Also won the SSV Idaho Marine CQC tournament five times – consecutively. Under the command of one Commander Lorene Kim developed an affinity for plastic explosives and grenades, promoted to the squad explosives expert shortly thereafter._

 _Was on sick-leave on Elysium when the Skyllian Blitz began in April 1276. Despite still recovering from his previous injuries, a pierced shoulder and collapsed lung, rallied the eastern quarter of the city under orbital bombardment. Held the Ajax hotel, where the planetary government and a large portion of Elysium's civilian population had sought refuge, for thirteen days of constant assault by Batarian pirates. Did so for the last three days single-handedly until reinforcements arrived. Sustained grave injuries. Confirmed kills during the incident: 327. Estimated kill count: twice that number, easily. Upon the secession of immediate hostilities was awarded with the Star of Terra by Alliance Admiral Hackett and a Pallidium Star by Citadel Council representative Matriarch Luczezia, along with a commendation from then commander David Anderson, stationed aboard the SSV Gettysburg and leader of the first counter-offensive landing party on Elysium, for N7 training. Also promoted to the rank of Lieutenant._

 _Trained for six months at the ICT academy in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, during which he completed seven courses: Assault Leadership and Recovery (Biotic Focus), Combat Phycology, Anti-Alien Warfare, Xenobiotic Combat Doctrine, Sniper Certification Training, Basic Medic Certification and Advanced Medic Certification. Recovered from his injuries in the meantime. Shipped out to join the Skyllian counter-assault to establish Alliance dominance against the Batarian Hegemony, served under commander Anderson aboard the SSV Gettysburg, then transferred alongside Anderson to the SSV Tokyo, for the following thirteen months until the Batarian retreat after the fall of Torfan. Returned to ICT to complete his remaining three courses: Introduction to Combat Hacking, Bypassing Computerised Defences and Assault Rifle Advanced Use Certification. Crowned ICT Marine CQC champion in academy-wide tournaments, twice. Upon graduation was awarded with full N7 status and a letter of commendation from academy principal Rear-Admiral Rodriguez._

 _Transferred from Marine Command onto the 103_ _rd_ _Marine Division, Special Operations Command, Assault Directive under Major Campbell aboard the SSV Everest. Records are classified from this point onwards. Information available indicates that he participated in no less than sixteen counter-terrorist operations, nine rescue operations, five search and destroy operations and one orbital assault operation, as well as one birthday party. Data supports that he was romantically involved with Lieutenant Commander Eliza Carmine, a fellow Assault Directive officer. Promoted to Lieutenant Commander in 2180._

 _Transferred to the Stealth Initiative in 2182 on the behest of Captain Anderson, joining him in the Alliance-Turian cooperative project that resulted in the construction of the SSV Normandy. Promoted to Staff Commander upon Anderson's resignation from the project in 2183 and given command of the Normandy as a part of the Spectre Initiative. Became the first human Spectre the same year._

And she basically knew the rest, Miranda reflected as she leant back in her chair, hands clasped before her as she was deep in thought. Therum, Noveria, Feros, Virmire, Ilos, the citadel – she had heard it all in great detail. After describing the mission against the rouge Spectre Saren in great detail the service history ended abruptly with Commander Shepard's death and the destruction of the SSV Normandy, after which it linked to the Lazarus Project files for more information. His records were certainly stellar, his achievements numerable, but it was just that: records. Beyond the fact that his parentage was unknown and that he had been a youth of little means before he joined the military as part of an outreach project she knew nothing more about him. A few personality quirks and a list of skills and successful missions longer than her arm; that was all it was. It offered no insight into his personality, no exploration of his character. Maybe it was just best if she asked him herself outright. And there were some things she was curious about…

"EDI" she spoke up, dismissing the data projected before her with a wave and disengaging privacy mode "can you tell me what the Commander is doing as of this moment?"

"Certainly, operative Lawson" the AI's mechanic but strangely human voice replied instantly from out of the speakers in her office. "He is currently conversing with Gunnery Officer Vakarian about the merits of different types of armaments, specifically about the superiority of shotguns over sniper-rifles, in the main battery. Should I ask him to make his way to your office?"

"Not yet, EDI – interrupting his report with his friend will only serve to make him less pliable. Inform me when he says 'I should go' to the Turian and then inform him that I would like to see him in my office".

"Certainly, operative Lawson" the computerised being answered before it complied, to which Miranda sighed and put her fingertips to her brow. She needed to figure this out, figure out from where this distressingly tingling feeling came from, so that she could root it out and burn it away, leaving her objective in the face of the mission. If she developed an inappropriate emotional attachment to the men not only would her ability to act professional be compromised, but if Shepard's precious conscience got the better of him and he went again Cerberus and the Illusive Man… could she take him out then, like she was supposed to? Perhaps she could, but… if so, did she want to?

"Miranda" his voice, smooth and authorative and altogether American, woke her from her ponderings from where she was sitting leaning over her desk, the door softly sliding open before him and then just as silently closing behind him. "You wanted to see me. Is everything alright? Is Oriana settling in okay?"

She looked up at him, a slight smile curving her lips. Here he was, summoned to her presence, the woman who had built him anew and made him sell his soul to the devil, and the first thing he asked was in regards to the state of her little sister. The little sister he had helped her rescue. "She's quite fine, Shepard. Her family should be touching down on Elysium within the day".

"Glad to hear it" he nodded as he stood opposite to her across her desk, crossing his arms before him. "She's a good girl; deserves a normal life. I was wondering, Miranda-"

There he went again. During his rounds around the ship he always took charge, always leading the conversation, always pushing people to tell him everything that was on their minds while speaking almost nothing of himself. Was it a defense-mechanism? Well, she was the one asking questions then and there. "Shepard, if you don't mind" she interrupted as she swiped with her hand and transferred the open dossier from her main terminal to one of her handheld tablets. "I've been going over your Cerberus files, your dossier, and I was wondering if you could clear up some... issues I have with it".

"Does that mean that you are going to show it to me?" he wondered, a frown creasing his brow. "I haven't been given full access to your database yet - and since I'm your Lazarus cell's big project..."

Show it to him? Classified Cerberus files, information they had gained illegally through decrepit means, the lifeblood of their organisation? "Of course" she was surprised at how honest she was as she rose from her chair and showed him to her living quarters. Well, they needed him to trust them.

"Right" he nodded again and took a seat on her black leather couch, one leg laid over the other in his modified Alliance fatigues. The clothes fit him like a second skin: not in the sense that they were overly tight, though they did show off his impressive physique, but rather that he was comfortable in military clothes. It was who he was. In a sense, it was his second skin. Was she a fool for prying deeper, as he was what he needed to be: a military hero, the champion of humanity in the coming dark days?

No. She settled for nothing. She needed to know.

"Would you like something to drink?" she asked and went for the small compartment underneath her coffee table, the one that wasn't filled with a pair of primed and ready firearms but rather the one possessed of two glasses and a bottle of Thessian Red – the Illusive Man's favourite Asari wine. She made sure she wasn't touching the top of the cork when she pulled out the bottle. Doing so would release a cyanide tablet into the rest of the wine for when one needed to drink with an enemy or needed to preserve Cerberus's secrets at a point of "civilised" capture.

"Yes, thank you" he smiled at her while he reached for his pocket, pulling out an Alliance standard protein and nutrition bar wrapped in purple plastic with yellow lettering. "Do you mind if I-?"

"Please, go ahead" she answered as she poured up two glasses of wine, one for her and one for him, while he peeled the wrapper off the chocolate protein bar. "I am a biotic too, so I quite understand your need for additional sustenance beyond your allotted rations. Why you do keep to your military standard rations in the first place – that is what I wonder".

"That's why you called me over?" he asked, bemused, as he took the glass she offered, holding the plastic glass a little roughly as if he was unused to such finery. "To ask me why I keep to the Navy standard MREs and BBS?"

"I am unfamiliar with the latter instance of jargon" she leant back in the soft and crossed her legs while he spread his and took a large bite out of his bar. "What is a 'BBS'?"

"'Biotic Bars that taste like Shit'" he clarified after some heavy chewing and washing down the diet supplement with a gulp of wine, grimacing at the contrast. "That's what we call the Biotic Soldier Dietary Supplement in the navy. Though the ones provided by Cerberus don't taste quite as bad. Civilian sector comforts, I guess. Goes with the captain's cabin and the leather seats".

"I see" she considered and sipped her own glass, whisking the sanguine liquid around in the glass and idly watching it move. "I am glad that you're comfortable around here. But, in regards to my earlier concern" she picked up her tablet and switched it on, Shepard's dossier now before her. "I want to clarify some things that I find… strange in your files, Commander. I trust it's alright?"

"Sure" he shrugged as he ate. "Ask away".

"Your actions on Elysium". At once his easy mood faded, replaced by a deep and dark frown. "It says here that you-"

"Nineteen" he interrupted.

"Nineteen?" she repeated slowly and looked to the files. Well, it certainly wasn't more than three hundred, but still, it was impressive in its own way. "That is… not what it says here".

"If you're asking how many Batarians I killed during the Blitz: I've no idea" he clarified in a sombre voice, speaking of something he'd rather not remember. "I never counted them. I counted ammo, civilians, hours, how much food we had left in storage, how much water we had after they cut the pipes underneath the hotel. But I didn't count how many of them there were. They kept at it for days on end. It felt like they were legion, you know? Endless".

"And the nineteen?" she wondered, arching an eyebrow at him. "Who are they?"

"The thirteen guards and soldiers that died defending that hotel, as well as the six civilian casualties" he replied simply. "They are the ones I remember. The ones I lost. They are the only ones that matter, now that Elysium still stands. Hundreds of people died, maybe thousands, but those were the ones that I could have saved".

"You cannot save everyone, Commander" she spoke softly to his darkened eyes and saw a flash of anger, angry determination, go through them.

"But I will always try to save everyone" he shot back "or there's nothing worth to save".

"Why?" she wondered, and he seemed a little taken aback. "No, I do not question your morals or your motives. You are a soldier, you protect and serve, and you care about people. What I want to know is why you feel this way. Your service history is exemplary, your skills peerless, your ability beyond doubt. But I feel as the Krogan, Grunt, must have felt when he was exposed to the history of his people. It's a list of things that has happened, but there is no reason to it. As is you are a cipher, a blank slate of a soldier for anyone to project onto. Why do you fight? Who are you… really?"

He looked at her for the longest time in silence, his eyes staring back into hers intently, intensely. "That's a lot of questions" he said, tapping the foot of the glass in his hand with an absent finger. "You sure you want to know the answer? It might not be an answer you like".

"I need to know" Miranda said and leant forwards, her new black cat suit moving so soothingly and tenderly over her skin in a feeling she revelled in. "Tell me, John. Please".

And at the use of his first name his eyes became, for a second, distant.

 _The streets of Old Chicago lay cracked and broken beneath his feet as he ran, his arms and legs aching, a satchel full of stolen food slung across his shoulder as the sirens echoed in the distance. He knew the cops weren't after him. They wouldn't take an eleven year old urchin for stealing the shopping bag of some old woman, despite her fancy clothes and shiny shoes, and even if they would they had no way to find him. As he had dashed away from that woman into a grimy alley behind the old arcade on fiftieth and north, them screaming behind him to "Stop that thief!", he had dragged his feet through the mud and done the same to the rest of his clothes later on in his run, hiding him from sight in the night, and he had dug out the chits and marker-chips used to track store-bought items from the food packets in the grocery bag and tossed them in a pond on his way. Little Jim they called him, and when he wasn't running for the Tenth Street Reds he ran from the law. And he was very good at running._

 _His feet aching as he slowed down he came upon an old warehouse down by the Works, a cluster of old factories and grimy skeletons of long since passed on titans of industry that now lay on the outskirts of Old Chicago, and under a rubber flap seemingly haphazardly hung by one entrance to keep out the worst of the cold he ducked, making his way into their little Haven. All around, crouched and lying on mattresses on the ground or swinging their feet from the rusted steel beams still holding up above, were children – pale, tan, dark, light, emancipated and scarred and dirty children all. Urchins. His people, all just like him, but most of them younger and weaker._

 _"Johnny!" one young girl squeaked from where she was standing next to another older boy, one a single year older than even Little Jim, whose name was actually John, and she, along with the almost dozen other children in the of warehouse rushed at him upon seeing the beg he hefted in one hand. "You're back!"_

 _"Yeah, sure am, Ems" he grinned and tussled her hair, hiding his tiredness and the heaviness that grew in his heart when he saw that the other older boy didn't have anything with him at all. "You know what?" he then smiled at her. "You're a big and responsible girl, right? You can hand the food out for me, can't you?" And after the girl had nodded profusely and then proceeded to divide the food items fairly among the other urchins Little Jim took the other boy aside. "No luck, Finch?" he wondered in a low voice as not to scare the little ones._

 _"None" came the shake of the head back. "Anytime I spotted a good mark there was either way too much muscle or way too many cops. You had better luck, John" he noted at the children, who from time to time would look up at the two of them with slightly worried smiles. "But… they're growing wise, man – the cops and the shoppers hereabouts. We've gotta ditch the dead weight"._

 _John understood what he was saying. It was hard out on the streets of Old Chicago, and if you kept dragging a whole bunch of other orphans with you, especially ones younger and weaker than yourself, then you probably wouldn't last as long those who cut all ties. But… "We've all they've got, Finch" Little Jim hissed back. "I'm not leaving them to die in the cold like-" like his parents had done to him. It was so long ago, now. He didn't even remember their faces or why they had left him. "We do what's right. We stick with them"._

 _"You're way too nice" Finch shook his head slowly but acquiesced – for now. "Mark my words: you're way too nice, and one day your big bro attitude is gonna get you killed, Shepard"._

"Shepard?" Miranda asked, frowning slightly as she brought him back to reality and away from the hounding of his memory. "Is something the matter?"

"It's strange, someone using my first name" his words were wistful, even a little sore. "I was always Shepard, to everyone around me, even in boot camp off of Titan. I was never John. They called me Jim, or Johnny, before I joined the military, but I was never just… John".

"I apologise" Miranda replied a little stiffly, and he looked at her and couldn't help but to think that she was the prettiest woman he had ever laid eyes upon. She was, for lack of a better term, aestetically perfect… at least by someone's definitions. "If I was inappropriate-"

"It's alright. I'm just a little unused to it; that's all. But… don't go calling me 'John' in public, okay? It sends a message, makes people think… things".

"I see" she seemed to think a little on that before she looked back down on her dossier. "Could you, perhaps, tell me something: why did you join the Alliance Navy as soon as you were eighteen?"

"I didn't" Shepard's smile was wistful even as that mood disappeared from his voice.

"Excuse me?"

"I've never told anyone but doctor Chakwas and Anderson this, but… I wasn't eighteen when I signed up and shipped out. At fourteen I had a growth spurt, could even grow stubble at fifteen, and by I was sixteen I was the height I am now. So with the help of some friends I fudged my papers a little. I was seventeen when I joined".

"Why are you telling me this?" Miranda narrowed her eyes at him. "You could get court-martialled for lying in your draft papers".

"Yeah, but it doesn't matter anymore. Officially I'm MIA and presumed dead. With me being a Spectre and all I doubt that they would have bothered anyway. On top of that I'm working for terrorists now". He said that with just a hint of an edge, reminding her that no matter how well adjusted he seemed to it all he still kept the sins of their organisation hard in his mind. "And… I trust you, Miranda".

"You shouldn't trust Cerberus". With this information they had a hold over him, a way to discredit him should he turn rouge and try to escape their forced employ. He shouldn't have said that. She was obligated to add it to the dossier.

"I don't" he said then, his look intent, and by the steel in his gaze she averted her eyes.

"I won't modify the dossier" she said as she put it away onto the surface of the table between them, leaning back once more to sip off her wine and trying to relax from an attitude she realised was very much too severe. "But I want to know why. Did you think you would get rich in the military or did you join out of shear xenophobia?" Anything else wasn't very common for kids off the street; at least that was what the papers said.

"I left a lot of friends behind when I was taken in by the St Augustine military orphanage at thirteen" Shepard began to explain. "There was this kid, Emma. I kind of took her under my wing. But the winter just before I went to St Augustine's was the worst one since the 2020s. She… didn't make it. She and the rest of us shared our blankets and huddled up to stay warm during the nights, but she was little. Didn't manage to stay in the central clutch, was pushed out, froze to death. After that… I really didn't see the point for a while. Wondered around, stayed alive just because, then" his voice drifted off along with his gaze, his look becoming farseeing and distant.

"You were very strong to survive such conditions" she deduced that, by his terminology and the things he didn't say, he must have been an orphan and an impoverished one at that. With the settlement of the final frontier in full swing and conflict looming with the Batarians as well as the internal politics of Earth the governments of the homeworld, even society in general, had little time or resources for street rat children.

"You don't get out of stuff like that just because of strength or talent. It's mostly luck – and a lot of kids weren't as lucky as I were. To get out of it, off Earth, I made some bad friends, some tough choices. And when I was looking back on that stupid little blue pearl as we shipped out to Jupiter I promised that I would be back for the kids that survived. But few of them did, and the ones that did were neck deep in the gangs or buckets of red sand or cocaine and didn't want to get out. So I went to my new life, turned my back on my old life, and swore I wouldn't ever abandon a friend again". Again he drifted off, his words bitter and hollow in his mouth. "A promise I broke on Virmire".

"I-". Oh, damn it all, she was supposed to be a better judge of character than this. Surely someone who acted so saint-like and naïve in such a messed up world as their galaxy had some sort of reason for holding onto his convictions with such unending fortitude. "I'm sorry".

"Don't worry about it, Lawson" he shook the thoughts from his head and looked back at her, adapting a more formal and less friendly manner than before – doubtlessly to disguise his internal hurt. "Right… do I get to play 'poke the past you'd rather forget' too?"

"Are you saying you want to ask me something about my past in return for answering my query so vaguely?" she cocked her head slightly to the side as she regarded him for the longest time. "I can see how that's fair".

"No. We'll play a game: I ask one question, you answer it truthfully, and then it's your turn to do the same. We play until someone chickens out".

"Why?" she questioned, a little apprehensive. It was a way for her to get what she wanted, but to lay her secrets bare like that… for anyone else, she would have refused them, maybe even shot them in the head. But he… for saving her sister, no questions asked or favours sought in return, he had earned her trust.

"Come on!" he urged and leant forwards, scrunching up the wrapper of his now fully devoured protein bar in one hand. "It's what we do for fun on long missions and shake-down runs when not much happens. I want to get to know you better, Miranda. You know everything about me, after all".

"Of course" she nodded slowly in agreement. "I rebuilt you".

"And you do damn good work" he pushed all the bad memories into the vestigial regions of his mind and managed a smirk. "So, you in?"

"Is this a game you marines play when you have nothing else to do?" she asked, to which he nodded. "I've heard about the drinking habits of marines in the Skyllian verge. I doubt this Asari swill will be appropriate?" She found that smirk on his lips mirrored on her own as she went to a hidden compartment by the small shelves she kept for things of sentimental value and pulled out a bottle of Raberdash Brandy – a human derivative of Ryncol that was less likely to make your eyeballs explode. "The shipside day is coming to an end, we're twenty-two hours out of Ilium from Tuchanka, so you won't say no to a nightcap?"

"Or two" he indicated, and once she had refilled his glass with the brown-pink-radioactive purple liquid she settled back down on the couch, much closer to him as the mood, she predicted, would be one closer to camaraderie this time. If she spoke to him thus, got to know him and all his little secrets that he had managed to keep from her until now, maybe she would be disgusted or off-put and turned off him, and thus, problem solved. "Well then" he raised his glass and clinked the edge of it off hers. " _Korbal_!"

"To mankind!" she responded in the traditional Cerberus toast and sipped her liquor while Shepard took a long gulp. A man of appetites, it seemed, in addition to his ambition and his resolve. She wondered if he extended his appetites to his personal – no! He was the mission, and she was not allowed to think like that. "Your toast-"

"Krogan" he explained easily. "Means 'victory or death'… well, sort of. Wrex taught me it after Garrus shot Saren dead and everyone gave me all the credit".

"Vakarian killed the rouge Spectre?" Miranda wondered at that.

"Yeah. Nailed his husk of a body right between the eyes after Saren shot himself in the head. Of course, he couldn't have done it without me and Wrex taking down his shields and drawing his fire. But it wasn't Saren at that point, was it? He realised what he was doing and spared us the trouble of taking him down before Sovereign took control of… whatever was inside of him. So I guess he was redeemed in the end? Godspeed, you genocidal racist bastard".

"It seems like you respected him".

"Of course I did. I respect almost all of my enemies – or, rather, I respect the damage they can do to my people if I underestimate them. But that's beside the point. We're playing a game, and it's my turn to ask".

"Lay it on me then, Commander" she settled back in the sofa in a faintly challenging manner, silently hoping that he didn't ask anything about her father or her upbringing, unable to bring the stiffness out of her shoulders.

"Relax, Lawson. I'm not going to bring the bad stuff up. Just trying to get to know my XO. Anyway: have you read any good books lately?"

"What?" Of all the possible questions, and that was the one he asked?

"It's an excellent conversation starter, and it gives you ideas on how to spend your time once the game's over. Perfect question when you know you're not drunk enough and that there's fifteen days of uneventful patrolling left to suffer through".

"Though it's not a very interesting question, is it?" she indicated with her glass and took another sip of liquor. "Since you asked: there's this vid-book I bought the other day. _Men are from Omega, Women are from Illium_. It's mostly inconsequential mating advice, but it helps winding down after a mission with the great Commander Shepard". He snorted at that, to which she chuckled. "How about you, Shepard? What do you do to unwind after a mission?"

"Mostly talking, making the rounds on the ship, checking in with the crew, maybe haze Garrus a little" he bobbed his head a little as he spoke. "And sparring. You gotta keep yourself on your toes, right? Primed and ready for close quarters combat. Jack and Grunt are great for sparring with".

"You spar with the Krogan?" her eyes widened. She had heard of things to that effect from the overheard conversations of the engineers Donnelly and Daniels, but had assumed it was nothing but tall tales meant to pass the time. "Really?"

"I used to spar with Wrex aboard the old Normandy. He taught me a thing or two about Krogans and about their tactics. The Biotic Charge technique? I tested it out against him when we sparred after Virmire. Only used it once or twice before we took down Saren".

"Hand-to-hand full contact sparring with Krogan Purebloods and Battlemasters" she shook her head at him, disbelivant. "And Jack? How does Subject Zero aid your technique?"

"Her combat doctrine is a near match for my own, actually" he was stepping lightly, remembering how volatile Jack had been after the mission to Pragia and knowing that the two were more than simply ideologically opposed to each other. "She's got almost no discipline or formal training, but she's got strength and talent. I've been working on a new Biotic technique with her. I call it 'Nova'".

"Don't you ever just take time off?" she wondered, bemused and a little shocked all at once.

"It's how I relax, Miss Lawson" he almost purred back as he smirked and smacked his tongue against the roof of his mouth after tasting the brandy she had provided. "So, I've noticed that you don't socialise with the crew too much".

"A woman's got to keep her mystery". Was she flirting with him? This had been a bad idea – she could see that now – but somehow she had no inclination to put an end to it. She enjoyed his company, she admitted to herself as she took a deep swallow of the brandy and discovered that there was none of it left after that gulp. "Another?"

"Sure" he was still smirking as she poured him and herself another glass. "So… introvert? I take it that it's hard being around others as an equal when you're a perfect human specimen".

"Everyone sees you as a threat when you're better" she shrugged and clinked her glass to his when he offered.

"Better at what?" he probed.

"Everything". At his look she rolled her eyes. "I am joking… I think. I know I can be a little… severe, Shepard. I do enjoy our talks, but I work better on my own. People either just get in the way or complicate matters if you bring them into matters where they are not essential".

"Really?" he arched an eyebrow as he gave her an incredulous look.

"Really".

"Then why aren't you leading this suicide mission?" Oh… he was just too smart for his own good, wasn't he? But as the alcohol was beginning to affect her she did feel inclined to answer.

"Because…" she steadied herself with another sip, knowing that he had turned her intentions around on her and was now the one asking questions. "I didn't want to admit it before, but… I don't have what you do: that fire that makes someone willing to follow you into hell itself. My father got me the best genes money could buy". Her gaze trailed away and looked to the window in the hull of her cabin. "Guess that wasn't enough".

"You always bring up your genetic tailoring. It really bothers you, doesn't it?" And here he kept on being so perceptive. Damn the man.

"This is what I am, Shepard. I can't hide it. The intelligence, the looks, even the Biotics" the bitter taste in her mouth certainly didn't come from the brandy. "He paid for all of that. Every one of your accomplishments are due to your skills. The only things I can take credit for are my mistakes".

"I can't admire your body or your mind?" he wondered, and his words froze her and made the bitter taste evaporate from her mouth. "You give your father too much credit. Yeah: he gave you gifts, but you can be proud of what you've done with them".

"Oh, thank you" she said, musing over his words before she turned back to him with a slightly challenging smile. "And perhaps I wouldn't mind if you admired my body".

"You wouldn't, huh?" He was moving in closer to her, leaning over the couch, and she found herself leaning towards him in return.

"I think I could live with it" she smirked before she stopped herself. No! This wasn't… things were getting out of hand. Damn that infuriating man for getting under her skin like that. She moved away from him and looked to the terminals by her desk. "It's awfully quiet in here. You mind if I put on some music?"

"Go ahead" He was disappointed that she had pulled away – she could tell – but he hid it well as she stood and made her way over to her desk, putting on some Elcor pop. The slow and lumbering creatures were of such a calm disposition that even their most energetic of music was slow and contemplative in the ears of humans and Turians, and on a low frequency it was perfect background noise of a night of quiet conversation.

"Well, Miss Lawson" he pondered as she settled back down beside him on the couch, a little music in the background to make the mood a little more festive. "You're a classy woman, unbecoming of a simple military urchin like myself-"

"If you've only noticed that just now I don't think I put your brains back in the right way" she quipped and sipped her brandy. "Not your fault, commander. You are simply a product of lesser genetic stock". And wasn't that a lie? He was practically a perfect male specimen… if you went for that sort of thing. She was sitting awfully close to him, wasn't she?

"Ouch!" he protested as if hurt, but he didn't withdraw from her in the slightest. "So you do joke some times. I like it. Nice to see you letting your hair down, as it were".

"I always keep my hair down" she replied readily. "Must be different from the women you usually move around as a marine. All no-nonsense buns and crew cuts and shaved heads to fit beneath the helmets, yes?"

"It sure is different – long hair isn't very much on the style guide these days, it seems" he noted and sipped his brandy. "But as I was about to ask… you read, obviously. You listen to Elcor music and drink fine wine. Your idea of a date is no doubt a fine restaurant meal or a quiet night in. So, a refined woman like you: you read poetry?"

"And they say that I'm a good judge of character" she was surprised, but pleasantly so. He was quickly getting closer to her than anyone else ever had, and she found that she didn't mind despite her earlier near-panic. "I do. ' _The arching sky is calling_ '" she began to recite "' _Spacemen back to their trade / All hands! Stand by! Free falling_!'" she supplied easily, her eidetic memory never forgetting any such piece that seemed to ring so true with the Cerberus mission statement. "' _And the lights below us fade'_ ".

"We pray for one last landing" he continued for her once her words drifted off, speaking as if he had read it once and learnt it by heart "On the globe that gave us birth; / Let us rest our eyes on the friendly skies-"

"And the cool, green hills of Earth" they finished it together, both smiling, she chuckling at his hidden depths. "I didn't take you for a fan of classic literature, Commander" she drawled.

"There's little else to do on a deployed cruiser when you've beaten everyone so hard in the ring that no one wants to spar with you anymore. And Heinlein got more things right than either Lucas or Roddenberry. Personally I'm more of a military memoir kind of guy; _A Farewell to Arms, All Quiet on the Western Front, To Hell and Back_ -"

"I don't think I've heard about that last one" she wondered, and he gave her the longest look before he averted his eyes to gaze intently at the floor of her cabin.

"'Praise be to God for this captured sod that rich with blood does seep'" his voice grew sombre as he recited something that had seemed to stick with him ever since he first read it. "'With yours and mine, like butchered swine's; and hell is six feet deep'". People hardly knew about Audie Murphy anymore, an American serviceman who had been awarded every medal there was in pre-spaceflight America for his service in the Second World War, but Shepard had stumbled over his memoirs one night on the SSV Tokyo when he had been browsing the ship-side library on his datapad. He had been an actor, an author and a poet after the war, and across the void of time and space Shepard resonated with the words of a kindred soul. "'That death awaits there's no debate; no triumph will we reap. / The crosses grow on Anzio, where hell is six feet deep'".

"Broody, and not at all like you, Commander" she noted and tried to salvage the mood. "A piece of poetry from you too? You are certainly full of surprises".

"A man's got to have his mystery" he joked and looked back to her. "And there's little else to do but read and watch military vids or play video games when you're too pumped to sleep but no other serviceman's awake. We get few games on Alliance warships, military vids are usually either insulting or hilarious, so reading was what I did".

"Military life sounds surprisingly dull" she reflected onto his words, thinking back onto his service history and wondering when all of that happened.

"Yeah, it's dull as rocks until it gets way too exiting. I did basically noting but shake-down runs, patrols and following Anderson for nearly two years until all of the sudden I spent the three most stressful months of my life chasing after Saren". He shook his head wryly to that. "And then I died. Spaced. Quite anti-climactic, really".

"And then you got better".

"And then I got better" he gave her a long and serious look. "Thanks to you, and Cerberus".

"You don't have to say it like that, Shepard. Our methods might be extreme, but we strive to do good for mankind". He snorted at that and examined the bottom of his glass. Perhaps the general approach wasn't working, and a more personal perspective was needed to show him the light. "They gave me a chance to utilize my potential. They gave my sister a chance at a normal life. And they've given you even more. A ship, a crew, the Illusive Man's personal attention-"

"The best thing they did was putting you on my squad" he interrupted her, and to that she didn't quite know what to say. "Wait a minute" something occurred to him that made his tone immensely pleased. "You're jealous!"

"Don't be absurd" she scoffed at him, nearly rolling her eyes just like her sister would've.

"Playing second fiddle to the generic mutt the Illusive Man put in charge?" he drawled at her and leant back in his seat. "That must sting".

"First, it's not a competition" she corrected him fiercely. "Second: based on your medical exams and your combat records you're practically a perfect bloody human specimen". She squared up against him, and he, being as stalwart as he was, leant at her, not being one to back down.

"Perfect human specimen, huh? Thought I was 'lesser genetic stock'" he was smirking, that damn infuriating man, but she wasn't going to just let this go.

"Don't get cocky. I'm the one who put you back together, remember?" She looked him over like she had almost two years before that night and saw a strong man now, muscles lean and taut with training, a body built for battle and bruising. "And I do damn good work".

He grinned as she moved even closer to him, almost without realising it. "You certainly do" he said in a deep voice, almost husky, and the barriers she had struggled to build for so long broke at that gently forceful sound. She reached out for him almost at the same time as he laid one arm over the shoulders of her black and orange cat suit and gave in, dropping her near full glass of brandy to the floor where it bounced and spilled, unnoticed by the both of them.

She kissed him. And he kissed back.

He wasn't overly skilled at it – not at first, as if he hadn't had any practice in years. He was a good kisser, soft of lip and gentle of tongue, but he pushed a little hard, almost like the desire within him was to the point of boiling over. It was good, she discovered, being desired like that, so intensely, and she matched him in passion as she laid her hands upon his bulging forearms and pushed her tongue into his mouth. He wasn't her first lover, but she had a feeling that he would be the best, and given how compatible they were maybe even the last-

No. She was losing control.

She pushed him away and moved back on the couch, panting, wiping her thumb over her lip. She could still taste him, and he tasted good – a little like iron, steel, but also of spear-minted toothpaste and chocolate food rations. She could get used to- No! "What the hell was that?"

He settled back in the couch, moving away to give her space, his expression first a little sheepish and then a little jubilant before he settled on quiet, expectant confidence. Damn infuriating man, how could he be so calm?!

"Okay, this doesn't mean anything" she shook her head and rose. "We just- can't-" damn, what the bloody hell was happening?! "I need to think" she moved to her desk and turned off the music. "I'll talk to you later" she dismissed him without a look, to with he shrugged and rose, going for the door.

"Sure" he confirmed. "I should go. Talk to you later, Miranda".

And he left her without another word, she staring after him and wondering what was happening to her. Damn the man, he made her uncertain about everything. The validity of her reports, the assumptions she had made about the world and herself, the belief she had in Cerberus, even what her own heart wanted-

No, she shook her head and went to clean away any trace of his presence in her cabin. He was the mission, and she was in control. She was strong enough for this.

She would do the Illusive Man's work, and damn anything and everything else.

* * *

I will say, that was a little more than I thought it would be. I couldn't decide on which route to take in the encounter, so I added both, and also near carbon-copied some things I've heard my friends in the Swedish Navy and Army say from time to time about military life.

And now I've got the sudden urge to Novelise the entire thing - Mass Effect 2 & 3 both. Is that a good idea?

Anyway, read and review, and DFTBA!


	2. Notice

**So** _... this isn't a chapter._

This is a notice that this one-shot chapter is being upgraded into a full-on story!

Well, response to The First Kiss was overwhelmingly positive (:-D) so here we go: full novelisation of Mass Effect 2 &3 with flashbacks to Mass Effect (OG). I'm starting all the way from the beginning of the second game, and while this chapter will make an appearance it will do so at a later stage. You can find this full story on this site as Lazarus Rising (it's a working title).

No gameplay and story separation in the written medium, so do expect some pretty awesome feats (Powerful Biotics taking down YMIR mechs all on their own, MAKO tanks in Mass Effect 2, cooldown on guns after popping out heatsinks, ME 3 powers and grenades all throughout the story, et cetera) and character and romance/drama focus. Well, there will be action. Some it in the first chapter, actually. I've already got more than ten thousand words written in it.

I hope you like it. First chapter will be up later today.

 **UPDATE** : Lazarus Rising is now out! Lazarus Rising is now a thing that exists!

You may find it on: s/11463786/1/Lazarus-Rising!


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